


deep within, just beneath the skin

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Monster!Jon, magnus is a bastard and can go fuck himself but he's good for angst, more swearing than canon though, there'll be some angst and some fluff. some hurt/comfort. it's a mixed bag babeyyy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of drabbles that explore the things that may come with becoming the Archivist.(A collection of drabbles that focus on the more eldritch monster parts of Jonathan Sims. Some good, some bad.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Melanie King/Georgie Baker - Background
Comments: 28
Kudos: 277





	1. unspoken language

It's been a while since Jon has actually seen Georgie and Melanie in person. He texts them all the time -- the group chat is… interesting, though not unwelcome -- and he sees what they're up to from the things they post online (he won't admit it, but he regularly listens to their podcast as well). He just… hasn't been over in a while. After the end of the apocalypse, he'd been a bit busy trying to readjust to the _normalcy,_ but he thinks he's gotten to a point where he can safely be around Melanie and Georgie without… freaking them out, he supposes.

He decides to stop worrying, and knocks on the door of their flat.

"Coming!" Georgie's voice rings out, clear and true, and he thinks he can hear the pitter-patter of The Admiral's feet on the hardwood floor alongside the footsteps.

The door swings open, and Georgie looks surprised, though not like she's going to kick him out. He offers a small smile, and she grins back at him. "Hello, Georgie."

She steps aside. "C'mon in, it's freezing out."

"Georgie, who is it?" Melanie's voice calls from the other room.

_"Yeah, who is it?"_

Jon tenses a bit at the sudden new voice, glancing around the hallway as he steps in, but there's nobody there except for Georgie.

"Jon!" Georgie calls to Melanie, and she beckons for him to follow.

He does move to follow, but the two of them are stopped in their tracks as The Admiral comes barreling around the corner -- only to freeze, skid to a stop, and just _stare_ at Jon. He blinks, begins to reach down to scratch the cat's ears, but Admiral hisses, ears going flat, and Jon practically recoils.

"Wh-" He lets out a disbelieving huff, "Admiral, it's just me."

That doesn't stop Admiral from glaring at him, crouched in front of Georgie. She glances between Jon and the Admiral, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Why's the Admiral hissing like there's a dog in the house?" Melanie pokes her head around the corner, and Jon chuckles.

"Not sure." He can't help but be a little hurt, in all fairness.

 _"What is that?"_ The strange voice rings out again, and Jon frowns, then realizes Georgie and Melanie didn't even blink at the new addition to the conversation.

"I--" He starts, but Admiral lets out a vicious _mrrrrow,_ shutting Jon up rather quickly.

_"get out get out get out."_

It takes him several seconds to realize what's going on, and Jon can't help but bark out a semi-horrified laugh. Georgie just looks more confused. "What?"

"I--" Jon stifles his laughter behind his hand, "The Admiral knows I'm not _human._ "

He crouches down, tentatively reaching out a hand. "Admiral, it's still me. Still the same old Jon."

The cat continues to glare, but when Georgie nudges his butt with her foot, he cautiously steps forward and sniffs Jon's hand. A year ago, Jon would have been rather distraught at this revelation, but at this point he's too tired and used to the title of Archivist, so at this point he's no longer surprised by any new developments.

"What, so cats recognize you as some eldritch thing now?" Melanie grins, and Jon rolls his eyes.

"Apparently. Although I'm not sure--" He's cut off as Admiral sniffs again, then immediately begins to purr, going straight past his hand to rub against his legs.

 _"Jon!"_ Jon tries not to laugh, but Georgie just squints at him.

"Well, that was weird." She finally says, and Melanie laughs.

"He's really purring," Melanie says, and Jon snickers.

"He's doing a bit more than that." At their confused expressions, Jon finds his face heating up. "Ah--"

He hesitates, running his hand along Admiral's back, then decides to explain. "I, um, can understand him. Apparently."

There's a solid twenty seconds of silence, then Melanie bursts into laughter. "You can speak _cat_?"

Georgie's quick to join Melanie's giggling, and Jon can't help but grin, a bit sheepish. "Apparently! I thought it was only regular languages."

"You're a regular Disney princess, Jon," Georgie says between giggles, and Jon snorts.

Perhaps, he thinks, looking down at The Admiral, not everything that comes with being the Archivist is bad.

Later that night, the three of them (plus Admiral) are seated in Georgie and Melanie's living room, Jon curled on the armchair with Admiral in his lap, purring contentedly and mumbling rather cute things about Georgie and Melanie as he dozes.

It's a bit weird, but Jon thinks he can get used to it.

At least until Admiral sits up abruptly, staring out the window, and: _"What the fuck is that?"_

Jon stares at Admiral, stunned into silence. "Did you just--"

Admiral blinks up at him, head cocked. _"What?"_

He can't help but laugh through his next sentence. "Who taught you to swear?"

Georgie is hiding her snickers better than Melanie is. The Admiral just blinks up at him, looking vaguely smug, albeit a bit confused. "Admiral, who taught you to swear?"

He isn't sure if his compulsion works on animals or not, but to his relief it doesn't seem to, because Admiral just teasingly headbutts his hand, rolling over for belly rubs, and Jon sighs as he acquiesces to the cat's unspoken demands.

About a minute into the belly rubs, Admiral meows at him again. _"Melanie."_

"Melanie!" Jon gasps dramatically. "You taught Admiral to swear?"

Melanie bursts into laughter again. "I didn't teach him anything! He's probably just hanging out with the wrong kinds of cats."

"He's an indoor cat," Georgie points out, and Melanie snickers.

"You don't have any proof it was me," she says airily, and Jon smiles.

Throughout the evening, Admiral continues to chirp at Jon, and it's a bit strange to be adding into the conversation on Admiral's behalf, but Georgie and Melanie don't seem phased in the slightest.

Well. Jon supposes that's what happens when you've spent your life researching and witnessing the supernatural.

 _"I miss you! I love you!"_ Admiral chirps at him when it's time to go, and Jon prides himself on the fact that he absolutely does not tear up.

"I love you too, Admiral," he smiles, then waves goodbye to Georgie and Melanie as he begins the trek back to the train station to go home.

He and Martin really ought to get a cat, he thinks.

(Later that night, Martin says yes.)


	2. the strain of not looking

Martin admits it -- he's scared, the first time it happens.

It's a late-night run to the supermarket in the village below the safehouse. He can't sleep, Jon can't sleep, and there's no more instant ramen in the house, which warrants a 2 A.M. run to the supermarket in their pajamas. Jon had thrown on one of Martin's hoodies and fixed his ponytail, and Martin's chest ached at the sight. He'd had to sit down for a minute.

He'd been exhausted and in love, could anyone really blame him?

Martin's eyeing the cake mixes to see which one he should snag for them to make when they get back, since they won't be going back to sleep. Jon likes chocolate -- maybe darkchocolate? He turns to ask when he notices Jon hasn't followed him down the aisle. He stands utterly still in the center of the aisle, angled slightly away from Martin.

"Jon?"

The lack of response is what causes the pit of dread in his stomach to form. Martin backtracks, basket almost forgotten entirely as he comes up beside Jon.

He doesn't even react to Martin's presence.

"Jon," he repeats, softer this time, leaning forward to peer at Jon's expression.

His eyes are a bright, softly glowing green.

His gaze is so intense, so strong, Martin can practically tell there are more than just two eyes looking out. The intensity reminds him of that haunted, haggard woman, leaning across his desk -- _and he was **all eyes.**_ Is this what she'd meant? This terrible, intense, fear-inspiring gaze?

Martin's stomach drops as he follows Jon's gaze to a man, standing over at the freezers across from the aisle they're in. Martin gently reaches for Jon's hand, giving it a brief squeeze. "Jon. Hey."

Jon doesn't tear his gaze away, but his mouth does open, and his words are soft and almost, not quite, but almost frightened. "He has a story."

"Jon, you -- we can't do this here," Martin pleads softly, and Jon still doesn't move to look away.

"I _know_ ," Jon practically whines through his teeth, clenching his jaw.

"Come on, look at me. Like, _Look_ at me, Jon," Martin tries to be calm, gentle, he really does, but he's a bit terrified that Jon is going to march right up to that man and pull the statement out of him. He doesn't know how this _works._

"I -- I can't," Jon whimpers, and the fear in his voice makes Martin want to cry.

"You can." Martin cradles Jon's face with one hand. "Look at me, tell me what you see."

Jon huffs a sort of half-laugh, half-sob at the parallel. Martin just strokes his cheek with his thumb, tries to ground him.

Slowly, Jon closes his eyes, turns his head away, presses into the warmth of Martin's hand.

They stand like that for a few minutes more before Jon opens his eyes -- brown again -- he whispers _you,_ and Martin presses a kiss to his forehead.

He grabs a chocolate cake mix and tosses it into the basket before taking Jon's hand. 

Jon does not flinch away.

Martin rubs a thumb across the back of Jon's hand. "C'mon. Let's go home."


	3. names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> listen this concept makes me soft and i couldnt resist. let me have this.

"Audio recording by--"

Jon stops, staring down at the tape recorder. It whirs regardless of his silence. Eager,  _ waiting,  _ wanting him to speak. He frowns, runs a thumb along the edge of the recorder.

What does he call himself?

Magnus had said it himself. The Archivist, a misnomer. Better known as the Archive. He's not necessarily Jonathan Sims anymore, not entirely. It seems like a feeble thing to cling to, a name. Why does he deserve a sense of self? Out of all of the monsters and avatars he's met, there are so many others who deserve that sense of identity. He's just the Archivist, according to all those he meets.

Jon takes a deep breath, still frowning down at the recorder. He tries again. "Audio recording by… er, the entity formerly known as Jonathan Sims. The Archive."

Before he can even start the statement, he hears footsteps and-- "Absolutely not," Martin says, poking his head through the doorway.

Jon leans back with a huff. "Well, what do  _ you  _ suggest?"

Martin comes up behind him, resting his chin on top of Jon's head. "Not that. I hate it when you do that."

Jon leans into the warm embrace that comes from behind. "Do what?"

"Make yourself out to be… inhuman! You always call yourself a monster, I don't like it." Martin takes a deep breath. "It worries me, Jon."

Jon wants to snap that yes, Martin isn't the only one worried by the eldritch developments that have been occurring, but it dies on his tongue as he looks up to meet Martin's gaze. Martin combs his fingers through Jon's hair.

It feels nice.

He sighs a bit. "Alright. That still doesn't clear up my situation."

"Just… keep using your name?" Martin sounds confused, and it's frustrating yet perfectly reasonable at the same time.

"That's- it's not that  _ simple,  _ Martin," he nearly snaps.

Martin continues to play with Jon's hair, but Jon feels how he tenses, Knows he's anxious now --  _ fuck,  _ he hadn't meant to--

"Okay. Well. Explain it to me."

Jon gnaws on one of his nails, brow furrowing. How does he describe it? It's him, but not him all at once. He  _ was  _ Jon, and he  _ is  _ Jon, but those are two very different people. Jonathan Sims, a researcher at the Magnus Institute is nothing like Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. The Archive. Whatever it is. He swallows, tries to think of what he really means. It's just -- he's been this…  _ different  _ Jon for such a long time, for years, can he really… can he really still identify with the identity he'd had before all of this?

"It feels… wrong. Like…" The words stumble out of him, go haltingly, slowly. "Like it's not me? I-I know it's… people change, but I've changed…" he lets out a breathless laugh, "God, I've changed so  _ much. _ "

He leans against the back of the chair, leaning into Martin's hands as he does so. "It just doesn't fit. It's strange, using the same name as the stranger I left behind in the research department."

Martin doesn't say anything, just continues to thread his fingers through Jon's hair (he thinks he may be braiding it, actually, Jon hasn't been paying too much attention). After a moment, he makes a noise as if he's come to a conclusion.

"You could change your name? Just a little bit. To… signify how you've changed. Like… to show you're the same person, but you've done a ton of cool stuff." Martin does seem to be braiding his hair, because he ties it off and leaves it hanging down Jon's neck, resting his chin on top of his head again.

"How would you suggest I change it, then?"

"Take my last name?"

The two of them freeze up. For a moment, Jon worries he'd compelled the answer, and almost begins stammering out an apology when Martin starts talking again.

"Only -- only if you wanted to, obviously, but -- I mean--"

"Jonathan Blackwood," he tries it out. It does have a nice ring to it. "Or should we hyphenate?"

Martin lets out a startled laugh. "I -- we  _ could _ \-- is this your way of a proposal?"

Jon snorts. "You suggested it first, but maybe. Now that the apocalypse is over, we  _ should  _ get around to marrying before another horrible thing is thrown at us and interrupts."

Martin bursts into more giggles at that, and Jon treasures the sound.

"Y-yeah," he grins at Jon. "Okay. Mr. and Mr. Blackwood-Sims?"

Jon leans up to kiss Martin's cheek. "Perfect, then. Jonathan Blackwood-Sims it is."

Martin hums happily. "Admiral can be the ring bearer."

Jon huffs a laugh. "Helen can officiate."

Martin snickers, pulling away. "Glad we got that settled. You want any tea while you're recording?"

"That would be nice. Thank you, Martin."

Jon watches him go into the kitchen before turning back to the statement and still whirring tape recorder. That discomfort nagging at his mind isn't gone, but it's certainly quelled itself considerably.

It isn't the biggest change, but it feels like it is. It feels right, though. It feels… accurate. He feels more himself than he's felt in a while. Yes, he is the Archive, or the Archivist -- referring to himself as a tool rather than a worker doesn't exactly sit right -- but he is… so much more, now.

"Statement of Maive Woodley, regarding a strange sighting near their home. Original statement given June 8th, 1993. Audio recorded by Jonathan Blackwood-Sims, the Archivist."

He is so much more now.

"Statement begins."

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ cacowhistle.tumblr.com


End file.
